


Baby, It's Cold Outside

by Melanie_b



Category: Kabby fandom, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21861847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_b/pseuds/Melanie_b
Summary: Abby convinces Marcus to go on a skiing holiday for Christmas. Hilarity, fluff and smut ensue.
Relationships: Abby Griffin & Marcus Kane, Abby Griffin/Marcus Kane
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	Baby, It's Cold Outside

Marcus Kane loves Abby Griffin from the bottom of his heart. He’d do anything for her. He’d walk through fire for her, he’d die for her. Which is why he now finds himself, against his better judgement, at the top of a dizzyingly steep snow-covered ski slope, his feet buckled agonisingly into things which do not deserve to be called boots, clutching a pair of skis in one hand and a pair of sticks in the other. Because  _ Abby  _ wanted to go skiing, or more precisely, Abby wanted to teach  _ him  _ to ski.

“It’ll be fun!” she’d implored him at breakfast one morning as he was finishing his coffee over a quick sudoku. “We could go to Europe. The snow, the mountains, the blue sky and sunshine… Honestly, it’s better than sex. It’s  _ amazing.” _

He’d raised an eyebrow at her, huffing a laugh. “You really know how to convince a man, Abby.”

Chuckling, she’d moved behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, bending so that her mouth was close to his ear. “Not better than sex with you, of course. Better than other people sex.”

“Other people sex?”

“Just imagine,” she’d said daydreamily. “A day out on the snow and then we head back to our little cabin to chill in the hot tub overlooking the mountains before going to bed to make love for  _ hours _ . There’s a wood fire crackling in the grate and outside the snow is falling softly in the freezing night but inside we’re very,” she kisses his cheek softly, “ _ very  _ warm.”

He’d groaned and turned to capture her mouth in a long, deep kiss, and one thing had led to another, and half an hour later they’d booked a week in the Alps at Christmas, at a place called Bellamonte in northern Italy. 

As he stands now at the top of the terrifying pendice he’s beginning to think that he may have been focusing too much on the “making love for hours” aspect of this holiday and not quite enough on the “trying not to die” side of things. He’d kick himself, except he can’t, because he’s unable to lift his feet off the ground in these torturous orange contraptions Abby hired for him at the ski hire place at the bottom of the slope. He already can’t feel his baby toes and not because of the cold; the boots are literally cutting off his circulation.

“Okay honey,” Abby calls, swishing expertly up next to him. “You need to put your skis on. Lay them across the slope and push the front of your boot into the binding. Then click down with your heel.” 

With a sigh of resignation he lays the skis on the ground and does as she says. Miraculously it works, and he now has one ski on. 

“Great!” she beams at him. “Now let’s try the other one.” 

Of course, as soon as he lifts his other foot to insert it into the binding, the ski-clad foot shoots away from him and he winds up flat on his back, staring up at the cornflower blue sky. Abby’s face comes into view, peering down at him in concern.

“Marcus, are you okay?” 

“Fine,” he says, trying to sound upbeat. “Just a small bump.” She helps him up and brushes him down, soothing his wounded ego with a quick kiss.

“I’ll hold you, okay? You have to put your weight forward.”

It had been fine, he thinks, up until the skiing. On arriving in Italy they’d spent a romantic night in the beautiful city of Verona before travelling up to the mountains the next day. In the evening they’d gone to visit the Christmas market in Moena, which was truly enchanting. The town, nestled among the towering peaks of Latemar, Catinaccio and Lusia, was blanketed in soft white snow which sparkled like crystal under the Christmas lights. On the river which came crashing down from the mountains when the snow melted stood a four metre high ice-sculpture, created by spraying water onto a plant and illuminated by lights at its base. There were horse-drawn carriages carrying families with rosy-cheeked children and an Italian Santa cried “Buon Natale bambini!” as they’d passed. 

Abby was enthralled with the Christmas market. She’d bought Christmas decorations and an adorably fluffy white bobble hat that made her slightly pink nose look cuter than ever, and he couldn’t resist kissing it over and over until she was shrieking with laughter. They’d eaten warm krapfen, or donuts, and drunk mulled wine which made them pleasantly tipsy, so much so that Abby had convinced him to buy a salt lamp which weighs a ton and is going to cost them a fortune in excess baggage on the flight home. 

She holds him steady while he clicks his boot into the other ski. “Okay, so in order to brake, you point your skis together at the front,” she says, bending to pull the tips of his skis together. “Open them at the back. A little more. A little more. Okay. That’s good.”

Marcus is now almost squatting, his knees bent and touching and his ass sticking out behind him, and something just doesn’t feel  _ right _ . 

“Abby, honey, forgive me if I question your expert instruction,” he says a little sarcastically. “But I don’t see many other skiers in this position.”

She looks at him appraisingly. “You need to straighten up, and lean forward a bit. Your head should be over the front of your skis. Okay, that’s better,” as he acquiesced. “Perfect. Now we’re going to slide down the slope, and when you want to slow down, open your skis at the back and point them at the front, but whatever you do don’t let them touch or you’ll go ass over tit.”

Marcus thinks there’s a pretty good chance of that happening anyway. 

“And remember to keep your weight  _ forward.  _ Skiing goes against every natural instinct you have. You have to throw your weight where you don’t want to fall.”

He blinks at her in disbelief. “What?”

“You’re scared of falling down the slope, so you lean  _ down  _ the slope. Then you won’t fall.”

That sounds crazy but Abby is beginning to get that fierce look she gets when someone doubts her word so he merely nods and repeats, “Lean where I don’t want to fall.”

“Okay, let’s try. Watch me, honey, and do what I do.” 

He watches as she glides gracefully a few feet down the slope with her skis parallel and then opens her skis at the back to bring herself to a gentle stop. His wife is  _ amazing _ , he thinks proudly. 

“This is called the snowplough,” she explains. “So when I say “snowplough”, you need to do this.”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. He can do this. He pushes himself gently with his sticks and starts to slide with his skis parallel. He’s going a bit too fast though so he tries to point the tips of his skis in the snowplough but goddammit that just makes him go faster, then his mind goes blank and his body goes rigid and before he knows it he’s sliding down the slope on his back and his jacket is full of freezing cold snow. 

At the bottom of the slope he lies in a daze, wondering if he still has all of his limbs and hoping he didn’t knock anybody off their feet during his descent. His leg is bent uncomfortably and somehow he has snow in his mouth and he doesn’t actually know how he’s going to stand up until Abby is next to him, unclicking his skis and pulling him into her arms. 

“What did I do wrong?” he mumbles into her shoulder and she chuckles wisely. 

“You didn’t keep your weight forward. When you panicked you drew back in fear and your skis went from under you.” She brushes the snow off his face with her gloved hand and kisses him tenderly. “It happens to everyone the first time. You’ll get there.”

“Isn’t there an easier slope to begin with?” He’d be fine if it was just a bit  _ flatter.  _

Abby laughs. “Marcus, this is the nursery slope. It’s barely sloping.” She stands up and holds out her hand to help him up, and he pulls himself to his feet, glaring as a group of toddlers fly past him, their tiny skis in perfect snowploughs.

“It’s a good job you’re hot,” he says, pulling her into his arms. “I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, you know.”

She smiles smugly. “I know.”

They trudge to the top of the slope - he’s too embarrassed to go on the conveyor belt with the kids - and go through the whole process again. This time, she exaggerates how much she’s leaning forward as she slides down the slope and opens her skis in a snowplough, and he can’t help noticing that her ski pants are delightfully fitting in all the right places.

“Okay? Did you see?”

“Um, yeah, of course,” he mutters.

“Marcus…” she smirks at him knowingly, and he gives her a sheepish grin.

“Sorry. I was… distracted.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, let’s try again.”

This time he leans forward like she does, and points his skis when she does, and it’s incredible but he gets to the bottom of the slope and he’s still on his feet.

“Well done!” she cries and his heart fills with pride. He actually  _ skied  _ down a real life  _ ski slope.  _ She turns around on her skis and manoeuvres herself so that she’s facing him, her skis between his, and pulls him towards her by his jacket in a sensual kiss that takes him back to the previous evening, when they’d tried out the hot tub in their cabin or  _ baita  _ as they are called in this part of the world. The water was wonderfully warm and bubbly and she was beautiful and naked in his arms and their kissing had gotten a little… heated. 

He kisses her back and he can’t help wondering what his reward will be if he makes it down a black run if this is what he gets for the nursery slope.

She pulls away slowly and her eyes light up. “Curves!”

“Huh?” His mind is still in the hot tub and the only curves he’s interested in are hers. 

“Ski curves! You have to learn to curve!”

“Oh, no, I don’t think that’s necessary,” he says with a frown. “I’m perfectly happy just going straight, you know.” 

She giggles. “Marcus, not all the slopes are straight. And what happens if someone skis in front of you? You have to be able to avoid them.”

His shoulders sag in defeat. “Okay. But why do I get the feeling this is going to be incredibly complicated, like you have to go left if you want to go right or something.”

He’s joking, of course, so he can’t believe it when she nods excitedly. “Yes! That’s exactly it! Lean left to go right, and vice versa!”

This can’t be happening. “Abby, no.” 

“Yes! It’s easy, look. I’ll show you.”

They practice coming down straight a few more times, and finally she decides he's ready to learn curves. 

“Watch. I’m going straight,” she says, skiing straight. “Then see how I lean to the right,” - she leans to the right, opening her skis in the snowplough - “but my skis curve around to the left!”

He watches in amazement as she glides smoothly off to the left. This is  _ unbelievable.  _ What devil’s trickery is this? She stops with her skis in the snowplough again, then side steps back up the slope to him.

“Okay!” She’s looking at him like she wants him to try it. “Now you try it! Try to curve to the left!”

He sets off slowly slowly, opening his skis at the back to slow down even more, until he’s practically at a standstill. The he leans to the right, desperately pushing his skis to the left, and of  _ course  _ he shoots off to the right, sticks flailing as he barrels faster and faster towards the conveyor belt, which luckily is empty. He comes to rest on the conveyor belt - since there’s no snow on it - and feels himself being transported back to the top of the slope, only he’s facing the wrong way and he has no idea how he’s going to get off it at the top.

He’s just beginning to panic when the belt stops. Abby has pressed the emergency stop button and is now walking up the belt to him, ski-less, and he scowls when he sees the tears of laughter pouring down her cheeks. When she reaches him she unclips his skis and he steps off the belt, and then she wraps her arms around him, her body shaking with laughter.

“Oh Marcus! Oh my God!” She buries her face in his jacket again as giggles overcome her and it’s no good, she’s so adorable when she giggles that he can’t be mad at her and they stand on the snow clinging to each other and laughing.

“I’m sorry!” she gasps. “I know I shouldn’t laugh but that was so funny!”

He chuckles good-naturedly. “I’m glad to be of entertainment!” He kisses her nose and she closes her eyes and hums with pleasure, and he gazes down at her in awe. He’s so lucky to have her, even if she makes him do these crazy things. She has absolute faith in him that he can do this so after a brief respite he puts his skis back on and tries again.

“Remember, you don’t control the skis with your feet,” she reminds him. “You control them with your body, with how you throw your weight. You can’t steer the skis where you want to go, you have to throw your weight and the skis will follow.”

He has no idea how to do that but he gives it his best. This time he only falls on his ass three times before he finally gets the hang of it and his skis curve around smoothly in that physics-defying way he’ll never understand. He’s pleased with himself but when he tries to curve in the other direction it gets all tricky again and he falls again, and again, and again, but each time Abby is there with her sweet words of encouragement and he gets back up and gives it another go, for  _ her.  _ He finally gets the hang of it and manages a couple of slopes without falling, his skis swooshing in perfect snowplough curves, and the last time he even manages to beat a four-year-old who is  _ definitely _ the next Bode Miller.

They decide to call it a day whilst he’s on a high, and head to the little chalet at the bottom of the slope for hot chocolate. They choose a little square table by a window and place their order with the barista, admiring the magnificent Pale di San Martino mountains that fill their view out of the window. Abby sighs happily, taking his hands in hers and threading their fingers together. Her hands are warm because they didn’t get wet from falling in the snow and she massages his fingers tenderly, trying to bring them back to life. 

“It was fun, wasn’t it?” Her eyes are alight with hope and he doesn’t have the heart to be grumpy although every muscle in his body is aching and his feet are still like blocks of ice. 

“It was,” he concedes, because if he’s honest with himself he  _ always  _ has fun with her, just because he’s with her.

“You did great! You’re a natural.”

“I think that’s a bit excessive,” he chuckles. “But I had the best teacher, I guess.” 

“Thank you, honey.” Her smile radiates pure happiness and he feels a rush of love for his beautiful, vibrant, energetic wife who just wants to share her passion with him, wants him by her side in the things that bring her joy. He leans forward to kiss her, his eyes never leaving hers even when their lips move gently together. 

“I love you,” he whispers and her smile widens. She doesn’t say it back but she doesn’t need to, he knows she loves him and in a relationship there are times it’s important to tell the other person how much they are loved without any expectations. 

They drink, or rather eat their hot chocolate, because it’s so dense it’s easier to use a spoon, and then they leave the cosy warmth of the chalet to take their skis and boots to the ski deposit next door. He groans in relief when his feet are finally free of the vice-like grip of the ski boots and in his warm and comfy moon boots. 

“It feels like I’m walking in the clouds!” he says in delight and she laughs and wraps her arm around his waist. They leave the shop and make their way along the snowy street towards the little path that takes them to their secluded cabin. “Does it ever not feel like torture, wearing ski boots?”

She thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. “No. It just becomes more worth it, as you enjoy skiing more.” They chuckle together and trudge up the slope between the pine trees just as the snow is beginning to fall.

Once inside the cabin they quickly discard their ski gear and he stokes the fire in the wood burner in the corner, warming the cabin. She lights some candles which make the shadows dance in the corners and then she’s in his arms, her hands running over the muscles of his chest beneath his thermal t-shirt. He loves the feel of her hands on his body, possessing him, feathering through the hairs and over his nipples. Her eyes are glowing as she whispers, “And now for the second part of the holiday. We have  _ all  _ night, and it’s snowing outside.”

She kisses his neck and he sighs, pulling her closer and losing himself to the warmth of her mouth, the gentleness of her hands, the scent of her hair and skin. She lifts his t-shirt and he pulls it over his head - she’s too short to reach - and then she pulls him towards the bed. They fall onto it, but as his body hits the mattress every muscle flares in pain and it seems like his vertebrae have decided it’s more fun  _ not  _ to be attached to one another anymore.

“Ow,” he groans into the duvet. “Abby, I don’t think my body is up to this.”

She’s immediately concerned, her doctor’s hands roaming over his aching back and shoulder muscles. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, kissing his temple. “Tell me where it hurts and I’ll make it better.” She moves his hands above his head and pushes him gently onto his front and he sighs as her fingers begin to knead the tight knots of muscles around his shoulder blades caused by repeatedly heaving himself up off the ground with his ski sticks. 

“God, you’re an angel,” he groans, and she chuckles.

“That’s not what you were calling me this afternoon when you fell on your ass for the fifteenth time.” 

“I was a fool,” he murmurs. “I’d fall on my ass a thousand times for this. You’re the angelest of all angels. This feels fantastic.”

She makes her way down his back, easing his sore muscles, her deft fingers chasing away the tension and leaving him floating in a drowsy bliss. When she starts on his leg muscles it’s so wonderfully relaxing that his mind drifts away, back to the slopes, and suddenly he’s flying down a red run with Abby and it’s exhilarating and freeing and she’s right, it  _ is _ better than sex, it’s  _ incredible  _ except they are both naked and everyone is staring at them as they swish and curve down the snowy incline.

“Marcus.” 

Her husky voice in his ear startles him back to reality, and he realises she’s moved up the bed to his head so that when he opens his eyes he’s immediately met with her dark brown orbs peering at him. 

“Are you sleeping?”

“Uh? No,” he mumbles, but he’s drooling on the pillow and she gives an affectionate giggle.

“You were snoring.”

“I was not.”

“You were.” She settles down next to him, naked and soft, and he wraps his arm around her and pulls her into him. “I need you to turn over,” she whispers, fluttering kisses on his beard. “So I can do the front of your legs.”

“Hmmm.” He sighs and rolls onto his back, and she wriggles down his body, her hair tickling his chest until he hears her give a sharp intake of breath. 

“Oh!” she says in delight. “It looks like your body is up to it after all.” She places a soft kiss on his cock, which is half hard and lolling lazily on his stomach. 

“Did you really doubt it?” he asks with a smirk, and then gives a hiss of pleasure as she takes it in her mouth and runs her tongue over the tip. He wants more but to his disappointment she lets it flop out of her mouth and then carries on down to his legs. 

“You tease,” he moans, but she just chuckles again and begins massaging his thigh muscles, and even though his mind is on other things now he has to admit it feels good. The quadriceps are the muscles most used in skiing and his legs are sore and aching from the hours of braking and snowploughing. 

She massages her way down to his ankles and feet and he’s watching her now, his cock growing harder with every movement that makes her breasts bounce under the loose waves of her hair, revealing tantalising glimpses of dark pink nipple. He moans in pleasure as she massages the soles of his feet, chasing away the memory of the painful ski boots, but he’s getting impatient now, the thought of her mouth on his cock driving him crazy, and he knows she’s perfectly attuned to him but she’s clearly enjoying making him wait a little.

She moves up the bed to hover over him. “Is that better?” 

“Much better. Thank you.” He reaches for her, intending to pull her down on top of him and kiss her, but she’s too quick for him and she slips out of his reach, making him huff in frustration. “Abby…”

“All in good time,” she quips cheekily but an instant later he’s already forgiven her as she takes his cock in her hand and lifts it towards her mouth and he shivers in anticipation. She’s so gorgeous as she watches him, her dark eyes shining with lust, her sensual mouth parted and ready to inflict all kinds of pleasure on him.

She grips him tightly with her hand which makes him iron hard in seconds and then slowly, tantalisingly, runs her tongue up his length and around the head before taking him in her mouth and devouring him greedily, and he lies back and surrenders to the wonderful sensations as she alternates sucking on the head with running her lips up and down the shaft and over the frenulum.

Maybe it was her wonderful massage, which has both relaxed and stimulated his body, leaving him warm and tingling and more sensitive than usual, or maybe it was just her teasing, the way she made him wait, but he’s more ready than he thought and it takes him by surprise, the sudden rush of pleasure that surges through him just as she moves to place hot wet open-mouthed kisses up and down the shaft. 

“Abby…” He tries to warn her but it’s no good, he can’t hold back and he comes with a deep groan, covering her face with hot white spurts. He’s too stunned by his orgasm to care for a minute, and he lies there in hazy bliss before he realises what’s happened. 

“Oh God, Abby.” He sits up and reaches for a tissue from the box on the nightstand to clean her face. She’s grinning in amusement, come running down her nose and chin, and he wipes it away gently. “It took me by surprise.”

“That’s never happened before!” she says in wonder. “I had no idea you were so close.”

“I’m sorry.” He wrinkles his nose in distaste, feeling like he’s violated her in some way, but she chuckles good-naturedly. 

”Marcus, it’s okay, I love that I turn you on so much you can’t control yourself.” 

When she’s clean he pulls her down next to him and peppers her face with apologetic kisses. “Thank you. But I think now I should reciprocate in kind.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you should come on my face,” he whispers and her face lights up, because he knows she loves it like that. She climbs astride him and he pulls her forward until her cunt is level with his mouth and he breathes in deeply, revelling in the scent of her arousal but not yet touching her at all. 

She wriggles, impatient for his tongue. “Marcus..”

“All in good time,” he says, repeating her words, and then teasing her with chaste kisses on her thighs and lips, until she opens her eyes and tuts in annoyance.

“You know, that’s a dangerous game you’re playing… I could just suffocate you right now.”

He chuckles and finally gives her what she wants, attacking her clit with his tongue, and her eyes close in ecstasy at his touch. He’s frugal, though, letting his tongue dance across her clit in a series of licks and flicks which drive her wild but aren’t enough to let her come. She grinds down, chasing his tongue but he tantalises and teases until she’s gasping and quivering above him. 

“Marcus, please,” she begs over and over until at last he relents, pressing his tongue flat and hard against her sex, his hands on her ass pulling her against his mouth, and she gives a final sob and collapses over him as she comes for what seems like forever. 

She rolls off his face but she’s too spent to move so he pulls her onto his chest and holds her tightly as she comes down. Her heart is pounding and her skin is shining with sweat and he thinks she’s never more beautiful than at this moment, post-orgasmic and liquid in his arms.

“I love that,” she says when she’s finally recovered her breath enough to speak. 

“Me too. It’s so hot.” 

She lifts her head. “I really did come all over your face,” she giggles, seeing his beard slick with her come. 

“You did. You drenched me.” He reaches for a tissue and wipes his beard. “I think we’re even now.” He kisses her hair and she snuggles harder into him.

“Hmmm.” 

“Although…” He raises his hips slightly, pushing his already hard cock against her hip, and she immediately reaches between them to grasp it. 

“Well, aren’t you  _ full  _ of surprises today.”

“It must be the skiing,” he grins, and then groans as she begins to stroke him. “Turn over,” he whispers, rolling her off him, and he turns to spoon her from behind, so that his cock is nudging at her ass, then lifts her leg to push gently inside her. 

“Ohhh,” she sighs as he begins to move. He pushes her hair to the side to expose the sensitive part of her neck and sucks gently on the area of skin that he knows makes her writhe in pleasure, while his arm that's trapped underneath her cups her breasts and thumbs her nipples, eliciting soft moans from her. His free hand wanders over her hips and stomach, following the perfect contours of her curves - the  _ best  _ kind of curves, he thinks to himself - and then slips between her folds to stroke her already swollen clit, the rhythm matching his gentle thrusts and making her arch against him to pull him deeper inside her.

He makes love to her with his whole body, his cock and hands and fingers and lips and tongue, and it’s not long before she’s coming again in his arms, her breathy cries filling the room as she tenses and pulses around him, and a moment later he follows her, clutching her to him and groaning against her skin as he empties himself into her in a long, deep orgasm which is all the more satisfying for being the second of the night.

When they’ve got their breath back and their heartbeats have calmed again she turns and kisses him, her eyes deep and dark and full of love, just as they hear the church bells chiming midnight. 

“Merry Christmas, Marcus,” she whispers sleepily.

He reaches to pull the huge fluffy duvet over them, ensconcing them in a cosy cocoon of warmth. “Merry Christmas, Abby,” he replies, kissing her head and holding her close while outside the snow continues to fall. 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
